


Jam Session

by wyntirrose



Series: Trials and Blessings [16]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Car Accidents, Car Sex, M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-13
Updated: 2008-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-10 06:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/463289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyntirrose/pseuds/wyntirrose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes when a mech has been alone too long he can’t help it when his imagination runs away with him.  Especially when he has a little help from a Corvette with a souped up sound system and two horny teenagers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jam Session

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Notes:** Special thanks to bittereloquence and papyrus_quill for helping me with this. This was originally written for the Live Journal Mecha_erotica June challenge: "One".

I groaned as the car in front of me crawled forward another inch before stopping again. If I could have rubbed my temples I would have, but in alt-mode I was severely limited in how I could vent my frustration. There was always the horn, but that grew stale a half hour ago and wasn’t accomplishing anything anyway. I’d been sitting on this highway, stuck in this traffic jam for the last hour and in that time I had moved a grand total of ten feet three inches. I continued to listen to my music, a nice soothing series of vocal arrangements by three human crooners whose voices were as smooth as mineral oil. But even _‘Fly Me to the Moon’_ wasn’t enough to keep me entertained. I was bored out of my processor and all I wanted to do was get out of this jam, off this highway, and back to the Ark. And preferably into someone’s berth … not that that was likely to happen. The other Autobots seemed to like me well enough, but none of them really trusted me. Oh sure, they had no qualms about dumping their problems on me, but none of them were willing to get close. And besides, the one mech I was interested in was too busy getting all moon-eyed at someone else to notice me noticing him.

I mentally shook my head at the dark mood and dismissed it. My problem right now was this blasted pile-up. I could have just transformed and walked past the other cars and the accident that was causing the delay. That would have been the rational thing to do, the practical thing. After all, had this been Cybertron we would have all transformed and walked past or flown over the accident and gotten on with our lives. But this was Earth and Prowl had made me promise to follow the rules. He’s also made me promise not to draw attention to myself, and in order to keep these promises, I had to stay in this blasted traffic jam.

The car in front of me moved forward an amazing two feet before stopping. The line next to me, however, moved two full car lengths before finally stopping. A red Corvette convertible pulled in next to me, and honestly, I have no idea where it came from, just like I had no idea how that line moved forward so far while mine had pretty much stayed right where it was.

I focused my scanners on the road up ahead and found that the crews were sill trying to clean up the mess caused by the collision of a water tanker and a dump truck full of sand. I had offered up my services to help move the trucks that were blocking all but one lane, but had been politely told there was no need. Both drivers were completely unhurt and had been taken off by the authorities, leaving the county crews to clean up. It was supposed to have been a quick process. They had sworn that the job would be a quick one; that they needed no outside help. They were perfectly capable of dealing with the mess without enlisting outside help. And yet, an hour later, they were still trying to move the trucks and clean up the accident’s resulting mud. Honestly, I think I may have succeeded in insulting them with my offer. I know the foreman muttered something about unions before hanging up on me.

I scanned the traffic and found that everyone was still moving at the same pace as before. So I had no idea why the line next to me had jumped so far ahead until I saw that the cops who were directing traffic had let through a large tour bus. That was nice for them, but it didn’t help me any. I was still stuck staring at the aft of a metallic mint green 1972 Buick Skylark. And judging by the smell of its exhaust it was about a hundred years overdue for a major overhaul.

I settled down on my hydraulics as one of the crooners broke into _‘Sway’_. This was going to be a long, long wait. But I thought that I might be able to talk Prowl into a stay of execution.

“Smokescreen to HQ,” I called out over the comm. 

“Hey, Smokes. What’s up?” Blaster came back.

“Any chance of my getting to talk to Prowl?”

“Sorry, ain’t gonna happen. He’s behind closed doors,” Blaster replied. He didn’t sound at all sorry. “He did leave a message, though.”

“Oh?” I asked, perking up slightly. The chances of it being an order to come straight back to the Ark was slim to nil, but I could always hold onto hope.

“Yeah,” Blaster began, pausing to make a noise like he was clearing his throat. When he spoke again he sounded uncannily like the 2IC. “Smokescreen, you are not, I repeat _not_ , to aid the authorities without being asked and you are _not_ to walk or talk your way out of that traffic jam. We have had more than enough negative publicity without you adding to it.”

“You know, you could have told me that without the theatrics,” I grumbled. Blaster was enjoying this far too much.

Blaster laughed before speaking. There was nothing malicious in the laugh, but he was just too amused by my situation. “Sorry, m’man. Wish I had better news fer ya, buddy. But I’ll see you when ya get in and we’ll have a laugh about it.”

“Oh, we’ll have something alright, _buddy_ ,” I muttered as I closed the channel.

I sighed and turned up my music, settling in for what was promising to be a very long wait. Next to me the two teenagers had seemed to come to the same conclusion. The boy reached over to stroke the girl’s hair in what was probably supposed to be a sensual manner. All in ended up being was obvious and clumsy.

“Stop it, Carver,” the girl said grumpily. “I’m still mad at you.”

I couldn’t help but notice that for all her protests, the girl leaned into the touch and pouted when the boy pulled away.

“Okay, if that’s how you want it, Lor,” the boy shrugged.

There was something rehearsed about the whole thing. The body language and the tone were off somehow, though I admitted I was no expert on human interactions. Not yet anyways. My suspicions were confirmed when the girl spoke again.

“I’m tired of this game, Carver,” she said with a slight pout. “... Carver? I’m bored.”

“Well,” he replied with a leer, “I can think of one or two things we can do to pass the time.”

“We’re in a convertible!” Lor protested, feigning scandal.

“If you’re that worried about it, this baby’s got a soft top,” Carver said in a low voice.

“Well, no ...,” Lor replied, a sensual edge creeping into her tone. “If you closed the top then we couldn’t see the ... view.”

Carver grinned as he dropped his hand out of sight and his girlfriend’s giggle told me exactly where it had gone.

“Great,” I muttered. “Exhibitionists. As if this afternoon couldn’t get any more uncomfortable.”

Then, as if the fates were out to get me, the Skylark shuddered and belched out black, foul-smelling smoke from its tailpipe. It was becoming harder by the second to follow Prowl’s order. I sighed as I moved forward with the line - another three inches before rolling to a stop. Prowl already didn’t like me, so I just had to grit dental plates and ride it out. Or not ride it out, as the case may be.

Rather than focus on the car in front of me or the exhibitionists next to me, I tried to lose myself in _‘Me and Mrs. Jones’_.

The singer was bemoaning his obligations and was moving into the bridge when an ear-splitting shriek came from the ‘Vette as the girl threw her head back and laughed. It was about as fake as her hair colour, but her boyfriend didn’t seem to mind. It was all part of the exhibition after all.

“If you liked that baby, you’ll _love_ this,” he purred, his voice aiming for a low growl, but cracking in the middle, betraying his young age.

Lor giggled, a genuine giggle this time, but stopped with a soft intake of breath as Carver grazed her breast with his arm as he reached across to open the glove box. He pulled out a CD case and brushed up against her again as he came back.

I didn’t hear what she was going to love since my line moved forward a full car length leaving the Corvette behind. For a while I thought that I might get through the jam in relative peace, but that that wasn’t going to happen. Of course, that would have been too much to ask. Music - loud music - began to play from behind me. It was a deep, thrumming song with a good bass line and filthy lyrics. No subtlety, no suggestion, just blatantly pornographic lyrics that left nothing to the imagination. It was hardly something I’d chose to listen to, but it wasn’t like I had a choice in the matter and there was no way that my crooning jazz music would drown out the other “song”.

Still, as annoying as it was it had a good bass line that sent the vaguest memory of a tingle through my systems. I found myself opening up to the feeling a little bit, leaning into it slightly. It was strange, and really, a little sad. It had been so long since I’d been close to another mech that my systems were happy to revel in the feeling this crap music was causing. It was like a phantom hand was running gentle fingers across my undercarriage, tapping me with every downbeat. I turned off my external sensors for a moment to focus on the feelings and use them as an escape from the annoyance of the traffic.

I apparently escaped just a little too far because the next thing I knew I was being beeped at angrily. The line had moved ahead by several feet, almost a full car length by the time I realized I have to pull up. By this time, the song/thing that had been playing behind me had changed to something softer, sultrier, but just as filthy. But by this point the damage had been done.

I found my mind was wandering back to the last mech who had touched me and it was almost as if I could feel his hands on me, moving across my skin, stroking sensitive joints and wires with a precision touch. I didn’t want to think about who had been attached to those skilled black hands. That had been disgusting. I wanted the purple and gold mech in my memory to be replaced with one who was white with green and red accents. I wanted to lose myself to _those_ black hands. My radio began to play a young woman singing ‘Begin the Beguine’ and that just threw me further into fantasy and memory.

Imaginary black hands danced across my hood and over my roof, stroking my spoiler and back over the numbers on my doors. I fought back a shiver as my imagination gave life to the hands. The sensuality of the singer’s voice as she mourned lost love and missed opportunities mirrored my mood and just added to my fantasies.

I absently moved forward with the flow, never noticing the little red Corvette pull up beside me again. But I noticed as soon as the girl shrieked again. It was like nails on a blackboard and it wrenched me out of my good mood as easily as a bucket of cold water to the face. Had I been in my root mode I might have glared at them, but instead I had to settle of revving my engine angrily. The teenagers in the car never noticed. Not that I expected them to. The boy sported a goofy grin while his girlfriend leaned back against the seat, moaning softly, her eyes half closed. His hand was out of sight again and another song blared out of the sound system.

“See?” he said smugly. “I told you you’d love it! I don’t know how Jimmy hooked it up, but turning the seats into subwoofers was an act of pure genius!”

His girlfriend simply nodded and bit her bottom lip. Now that the Corvette was beside me, and somehow, closer than it had been before, I was able to feel the full force of the sound system. A shriek followed by the deep bass of a Prince song came from the car, electrifying the air all around it.

The ghostly hands, which had been so subtle before were now blatant. I bit back a moan as I felt the bass line wash over me, moving through my systems and sending jolts of charged energy through me. Suddenly, in my mind and memory, the hands weren’t so ghostly. They touched me physically, hitting me in every sensitive area I had, and with them came the voice attached to those hands. Teasing me, taunting me, using me until I was spent and begging for more.

I never noticed the line of cars moving, and by the time I became aware of the angry horns, the Corvette had pull up in front of me. If I had thought the vibrations were good before, they had nothing on what I was feeling now. I lost all track of time and space as I was assaulted by the beat of that song. And the lyrics, as they worked their way into my processor, just added to it. I could think of just who I wanted to test those 23 positions on, but it certainly wouldn’t be a one night stand. I found my thoughts wandering to what I wanted to do to the white mech, but at the same time I felt those other black hands all over my body.

The vibrations moved through me and I found it harder and harder to keep back the moans of pleasure as fantasy and memory assaulted my systems. My fans kicked in and engine roared as I almost instinctively followed the Corvette, refusing to let it get too far ahead. It was like I was tethered to it and until I had my fill I wasn’t going to let it get away from me.

I never noticed as we passed the accident, I never noticed the police officer motioning us through to the clear road ahead. All I was aware of was my engine roaring in my audios and my vents trying desperately to cool my rapidly overheating systems down. And I certainly never noticed the tree until I was too close to swerve away.

***

I came to in the med bay hours later. For a moment I couldn’t remember what had happened. And then, a flash of red reminded me and it all came back in a rush. I groaned in humiliation and pent up frustration, bringing my hands up to cover my face.

“I see you’re online again,” Ratchet said, pulling my hands away from my face and looking me in the optics. There was a tone of amusement in his voice. It was something I can’t say I liked very much.

“So,” he said, obviously fighting a grin. “You mind telling us how you wrapped yourself around a tree?”

“Us?” I asked as I felt my spark sink and my tank flip slightly.

Ratchet moved aside and my humiliation was complete. There, standing beside the CMO was a very concerned looking Wheeljack. 

I groaned shuttered my optics, praying in that this was all just a terrible nightmare, but knowing full well that there was no way my luck was that good. Not today anyways.

“Smokescreen? You okay?” Wheeljack asked in a concerned tone. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No?” I asked helpfully. But judging by the sound Ratchet made, I didn’t think that was going to be an option. 

Yup. This day just kept getting better and better.


End file.
